


The Lion and the Sparrow

by dreamcatcherinwonderland



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatcherinwonderland/pseuds/dreamcatcherinwonderland
Summary: Co-written with a friend of mine :) This idea was born from a nighttime conversation about what Gaston's instagram would consist of, and then we dreamt this little beauty up. Modern AU, Belle is a librarian, Adam is a hermit with a staff left to him after his parent's death. He used to be friends with Gaston as per Disney canon. Belle is a WOC. Gaston is a gym douche. Cogsworth is hopelessly in love with the bi af Lumiere. Slow burn





	1. Saint Veran

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I hope you enjoyed, and my french might be a little messed up because if I couldn't remember the word I used Google translate but here's the footnotes for this chapter:
> 
> bonjour, monsieur- hello, sir (formal)  
> devoir scholaires- school work  
> merci beaucoup- thank you very much  
> maisons- houses  
> connard- shithead  
> putain-fuck  
> mon dieu- my god  
> comprenez-vous, oui?- you understand, yes?  
> vieille chauve-souris qui fou- that crazy old bat  
> ma pere- my father  
> merde- shit  
> le souper- supper  
> universite- university  
> maman- mama  
> ma cherie- my dear  
> mon ange- my angel  
> branleur- wanker
> 
> I also apologize there's no accent marks on the french bits but I've been using Google Docs and I can't figure out how to make the accents?

Autumn was coming to the small, provincial town of Saint Veran, in the southern Alps of France. Everyone in the village had their own routine to go about their day: the baker, to make bread; the butcher, to slice meats; the farmers, to tend to last minute sowing before the harvest yield; and on Belle Deloncroix, to open the town’s library for another peaceful day. The library was one of the newer buildings in the village, only having been around for two measly centuries, seeming as how before then, many didn’t have the desire to learn or read besides the basics to get by with their day-to-day in Saint Veran. Luckily for Belle, that outdated notion had pretty much dried up with the exception of a few older generations, and she found herself the head librarian before long when she and her father, Maurice, had moved here a few years ago. 

She smiled pleasantly at M. Dupont as he handed her a freshly baked baguette and wedge of cheese for her daily lunch. “ _Bonjour, Monsieur,_ ” she acknowledged with a nod of her head. “Does Emilie need a new book?” 

“Oh no, mademoiselle Deloncroix, she’s much too busy with her _devoir scholaires_! But I’ll be sure to send her when she has a break for Autumn holidays.” 

“ _Merci beacoup_ , Monsieur Dupont. And thank you for the bread and cheese!” she called as she made her way to the library. 

There certainly was a quaint charm to the mountain village, and Belle enjoyed most of the townspeople that occupied the _maisons_ there....however, there were a few that seemed to grate on her nerves, no matter what she tried. 

The triplets Claduette, Cosette, and Claire, for example, seemed not to care what anyone’s opinion of their closemindedness was because they were deadset on impressing the village hero (or, depending on who you asked, the village idiot) Gaston de Longe. Oh, sure, there was no denying that if animalistic natures were all you cared about that M. de Longe was handsome. With dark hair he kept perfectly groomed, icy blue eyes, and perfectly chiseled muscles from wasting all of his spare time at the local gym- any girl would think he had a great physique. 

However, Belle Deloncroix did not care for only looks. She wanted a sweet, sensible, intelligent man, not a...well, _connard_. 

As for Joshua Lefou, Gaston’s friend (put in the lightest of terms), Belle had no idea how the two had ended up together. She had the notion Lefou had been coerced with the promise of having such an all-around “good guy” as his friend, and that Lefou would never have to worry about bullying from the villagers ever again. She surmised this was at least true, but that didn’t stop Gaston from bullying the poor man three times as much.

Belle sighed and lifted the key from around her neck to unlock the heavy wooden doors. Before she could push them open, who would pause her progress but the man in question, Gaston de Longe. His arm pushed the door closed once more with minimal effort, he smirked at Belle, an eyebrow raised in amusement. He was wearing his usual wear: a red tank top with the words #swole emblazoned across the chest, a yellow sweat band around one wrist, black gym shorts, and black and yellow Nikes laced so tightly she wondered how his feet breathed. 

“The library isn’t ready for another twenty minutes, Monsieur de Longe,” Belle sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m not here for the library, Belle,” Gaston said firmly. 

“Ah, how could I have guessed?” she muttered sarcastically. “ _Putain._ ” 

“I came actually to ask why you’ve been avoiding my dm’s on Instagram.” 

“Your d-m’s?” Belle asked, looking at him quizzically. 

Gaston sighed. “ _Mon Dieu_ , Belle, do I need to show you how to work your phone again?” he asked impatiently, holding out an expectant hand for her smartphone. 

“No!” Belle exclaimed, a little more forcefully than she meant to. “I remember your tutorial last time, very, erm...helpful.” Truth be told, technology confused the hell out of her, but the less time she spent around Monsieur de Longe, the better. 

“Then you saw them!” Gaston exclaimed gleefully, rubbing his hands together and freeing Belle’s escape route. 

“Aaaaah, yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me-” She eyed the library doors hopefully. 

“Well then?” he prompted. “We’re on for dinner on Saturday?” 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel, Monsieur de Longe, I have a reading for the village children that night.” 

“After then!” 

This guy would not take a hint.

“I’m going to be helping my father with one of his inventions he’s taking to the Paris Invention Fair next week. _Comprenez-vous, oui?_ ” She pleaded with every god there was that this would be the ticket for Gaston to finally leave her in peace. 

“Ah,” he scoffed. “ _Vieille chauve-souris qui fou,_ Maurice.”

“ _Oui, _” she hissed to let him know she understood him, “Vieille chauve-souris qui fou, ma _pere!_ ” __

__Gaston’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t meant for her to hear his comments. “I didn’t mean that, Belle.”_ _

__“Yes, you did,” she said angrily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get to.” She snubbed him and pushed through the doors to her sanctuary._ _

__“ _Merde!_ ” _ _

___She heard him curse before the doors shut behind her and she smiled._  
……  
The library was Belle’s pride and joy. It was stacked floor to ceiling, row after row full of books. First editions, anniversary editions, paperback, hardback, and everything in between decorated her shelves. The library wasn’t large persay compared to others, but it was hers, and she loved it. 

__In the middle of the room was a long, oak work desk with a simple computer where she worked and catalogued her books all day. There was a corner in the back by the french windows that was her favorite, because it held a few floor industrial lamps, several large and well-worn armchairs, and a small fireplace she kept going on winter days._ _

__And around the fireplace there was a large area rug in multiple colors, a knitted affair one of the villagers had been kind enough to provide when she started doing weekly storytime for the children._ _

__Belle gave a nod of satisfaction seeing that the library was in order for the day and she chanced a glance out of the doors slowly to make sure Gaston was gone. Sighing in relief, Belle opened the doors for the day, propping them open with a door stop._ _

___She sat behind her desk and turned on the computer, ready for whatever the day would bring._  
……  
“Papa?” Belle called out as she unlocked the front door that evening. There was no answer. She sighed. That must mean he was in his shop again. 

__She dropped the groceries upon the table from the market that afternoon until she could start _le souper_. Belle had always been satisfied with the life her papa had provided her with ever since her mother had died. Maurice was a very devoted and loving man to his only daughter, he had schooled her himself since he had taught at a _universite_ before her _maman_ had passed. Most of all, he always made her feel she could do anything she set her mind to, which is one of the reasons she applied to the library job in the first place. _ _

__Smiling wistfully, Belle passed the front hall mirror. She paused for a moment to allow herself a moment of vanity. People had always told her she was a “classic beauty”, but she scoffed at that. She supposed if she put more effort into her hair and makeup like most women instead of her books._ _

__Her chocolate hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, the course of the day causing strands to frame her face, frizzy and uncontrollable. She reached up to gather it all in a bun atop her head. Her usual uniform for this time of year was a gray hoodie, deep blue beanie (now stuffed in her hoodie pocket), a pair of topaz knots her mother had worn, and a knee length black skirt. She touched the key hanging at her neck fondly._ _

__The house Belle lived in with her father was cozy, not a hovel by any means. Behind her, a small living room containing a bookshelf for her and a coffee table for her father to work on smaller projects upstairs. Two lumpy, but comfortable armchairs were the only other furniture in the room. Beyond that was the staircase that led to Belle and Maurice’s rooms. They shared a simple bathroom, a small shower/tub combination. They had no need for any other amenities, really. Belle had her books; her father, his workshop._ _

__She climbed the stairs to dress into her overalls and striped long sleeve that used to belong to her mother. Both were covered in grease, paint, and flour from helping her father with his inventions and cooking. She kicked off her boots and put her glasses on to concentrate on baking. She had only started needing them recently as she had grown older to see finer details like measurements or the occassional small print book._ _

__Belle went back downstairs to start preparing the evening meal, carefully laying out all her purchased groceries on the countertop and grabbing a knife from the utensil block. She started slicing the vegetables into small pieces, seasoning them lightly with her spices. She placed a pot on the stove, clicking the gas on and letting it warm before she started sauteing the vegetables. She unwrapped the venison meat from the butcher from its waxed paper and started chopping and seasoning that as well._ _

__She put the meat in the pot and started browning it. When she was satisfied that it was progressing nicely, she also threw the vegetables in, covering the pot to let the stew simmer._ _

__Belle went outside the house, going around to the basement and knocking on the door._ _

__“Papa?” she called as she opened the door. “Have you taken a break today?”_ _

__“Can’t _ma cherie!_ I’m nowhere near where I want to be for the fair!” _ _

__Belle sighed. “What if I helped before dinner? Will you take a break after dinner and get some rest?” She came to a stop in front of him, hands on her hips._ _

__“Oh, alright, Belle. If it will make you stop fretting.”_ _

__Belle smiled at him. “That’s what I like to hear!” She easily fell into pace beside him, grabbing a wrench to fix some bolts on his newest contraption._ _

__“How was your day?” her father asked conversationally._ _

__“Peaceful. Well, except for Gaston de Longe’s visit.”_ _

__“Why is that?” her father asked, frowning at her. “He’s not giving you some kind of trouble, is he, _mon ange_?” _ _

__Belle sighed. “He’s very...forward, papa. And he called you a crazy old bat!” She scowled._ _

__Maurice laughed. “I’m touched you went to such lengths to be offended for me, but I am a crazy old bat!”_ _

__Belle smirked. “But only I can call you that,” she insisted. “It’s different when he says it, it’s not affectionate.”_ _

__Maurice huffed. “Well, good. I don’t want to marry that _branleur!_ ” _ _

__Belle snorted. “Papa!”_ _

__“I hope you don’t either,” he said pompously, tightening another part of his machine with a sniff._ _

__“Hmmph, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she assured. “If only he’d get the memo.”_ _

__Her father shrugged. “Some men are still in the Dark Ages. Doesn’t excuse him, but well. Look at this town!”_ _

__“Yes,” Belle acquiesed. “Now, finish up here and come up for dinner, will you?”_ _

__“ _Oui,_ ” her father agreed, wiping his forehead across his work shirt sleeve._ _

__She smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No more than 10 minutes, okay?”_ _

__“Okay!” he shouted in surrender. “Just a few more things.”_ _

__Belle nodded in satisfaction and climbed the steps to the house._ _


	2. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get introduced to Adam, and he has beef (unsurprisingly) with Gaston. I hope you guys enjoy Adam's POV! I've enjoyed writing this fic with my friend and I've had it stored in my documents for a while. As always, French might be slightly messed up/missing accents cause Google Docs. If anyone has any idea how you find accents there, let me know! Footnotes at bottom!

It was a small town, full of small-minded people. It had very little to offer in the way of amusements. A coffeeshop briefly opened up on Third Street before they quickly realized that they were out of place. This town didn’t change, not ever. There was the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker; all the assorted figures you would find in a classical story alive and thriving in the south of France. And then there was Adam. Adam wasn’t small, not by any means. His shoulders barely fit into the doorways of the pub and he had scrunch himself down just to fit through. Not that he would go to the pub anyways, but that was besides the point. Adam scowled. No the point of the point was that there was no point; not to living in a place like this. Honestly he would have packed up years ago if he didn’t feel a sense of obligation to the people his father employed. They were tied to this place and they liked it here so he would stay. Never quite right, never quite enough. 

Adam Dumonde had been born into a life he hadn’t wanted. His parents had been extremely affluent from a young age, and always had to have the most lavish and bourgeois taste in their life. Not to say they hadn’t loved him, they had. They just were very different from Adam himself. 

His parents built his house right before he was born, hiring a fully live-in staff to cater to their every whim. Adam had gone on many holidays, had the most impactful tutors in the country, eaten the richest foods: all before the age of twelve. 

Unfortunately as fate would have it, Adam’s parents died in a tragic rail accident on a business trip when he was seventeen and that left all their estate to him. He was indebted to this house only because the people his family employed had become his family too, and while he wanted nothing more than to start over where no one knew his name...he had obligations, responsibilites that he couldn’t throw away on his own selfish reasons.

He slung his reusable bags over his broad shoulders and trudged down the hill to town. Today was the farmer’s market and he never missed it. Was it sad that this was one of his only sources of happiness? 

Every week he gave up his life of hermitude to collect new plants for his garden and fresh produce for Mrs. Potts. The rest of his groceries Cogsworth for drom market every few days, so that was taken care of. 

Adam searched along the stalls for some new winter plants as his previous ones had been destroyed last season by some rogue wolves. While his fingers brushed along some fresh coriander, a tall, looming shadow passed over him and he snapped to attention out of habit. He spun on his heel, only to come face-to-face with the idiotic Gaston de Longe. 

“Mrs. Potts ran out of spices, I see,” he drawled disdainfully. 

Adam sighed. “Yeah.”

“You should shave, _mon ami_ , your beard is getting out of control! Soon the hunters might think you’re a bear and-” Gaston trailed off ti make a slitting motion with his finger, breaking off with a sour laugh. 

“You haven’t called me your friend for five years, _mon ami disgracie._ ” 

Gaston scoffed at the term. “Who’s fault is that?” 

“Yours,” Adam said easily with a shrug, placing herbs in his bag and paying the vendor his coin. 

“And your hair…” he trailed off, ‘what is this ridiculous bun you’re sporting atop your head?” When Adam ignored him, Gaston huffed. “I didn’t come for your friendship,” he said angrily. “I came here to ask your advice.” 

“ _Sacre bleu!_ ” Adam gasped. “Do my ears deceive me? _Demandez-vous le fou pour obtenir des conseils_?” 

Gaston ignored his jab. “How do I get women to hate me as much as they hate you?” He finished with a grin.

Adam growled, pushing him forcefully to continue on down the path. 

“Now, now,” he could hear Gaston chastise him from down the path. “No need to be so rude!”

“ _Je men fiche_ ,” Adam muttered to himself. “ _En ce qui me concerne, vous pouvez pourrir_.” 

He was now not in the mood to finish the shopping for his plants, but at least Mrs. Potts would have her herbs, and that’s all that mattered, he mused. Adam decided to hit the library before he trudged back up the slope to his house and the questions from his friends about his sour mood.

He made his way along the familiar path to the village library, wondering if he could find an Austen book and finally catch a gimpse of this famous librarian that had been the talk of every _degenere_ for months. 

Adam quickly made his way to his favorite section of the library: British Literature. He scanned the titles on the shelf before his eyes landed on Sense and Sensibility. He grabbed it more gently than one would expect from a man of his size, cradling the tome against his chest and heading to the circulation desk. 

However, his hopes of spotting the mysterious librarian were dashed once more when the desk was proven empty. Adam just scribbled his name and the book down on the checkout sheet and stamped the date on the card in the inside pocket.

He clutched the book to himself as he left the library, where unbeknownst to him the librarian in question was deep in conversation with little Emilie DuPont about her newest book selections right on the front stoop.  
…..  
Adam pushed open the heavy teak front doors an hour later announcing, “I’m home, everybody!”

Mrs. Potts was, as usual, the first to greet him. Clucking over his refusal to let one of the others help him carry the produce, and insisting she was already boiling tea. She had risen to the role of guardian whether Adam wanted her to be or not after his parents died. She was sensible: a gray pixie cut and spectacles covering most of her face, a brown apron and beige pantsuit. She was also warm: many a night after a nightmare she was there with biscuits, she knitted him warmer winter clothes if she noticed he was outgrowing his others or was getting too cold, and she had tucked afghans around his slumbering form in front of a tv many a night. She hovered over him another moment before noticing his sour mood and the book in his hand. 

“Monsieur de Longe?” she asked knowingly. 

He sighed. “Who else?”

“That boy!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed. “I don’t know what his problem is all these years later but-”

“He’s a _fils de pute_!” Etienne Lumiere, his gardener and best friend, smirked triumphantly. 

“Lumiere!” Adam scolded. “You know the rules.” He pointed to a large glass jar in the foyer that was labeled Swear Jar. 

Lumiere rolled his eyes. “Really, Adam, are you my father?” 

“You know there are better words to use,” was all Adam said. 

“He is though,” he grumbled as he deposited a Euro in the jar. 

Adam laughed. “Yes, he is.” 

Mrs. Potts clucked again. “At least you got a new book out of it. I’m going to tend to that tea now, _mon chou_.” 

Lumiere was an attractive Frenchman. He was the only native his parents had hired as staff and that’s because their extensive garden housed mostly native plants Englishmen had little experience with. He was in his early forties, coffee skinned, with long black hair he kept slicked back into a long ponytail. His usual attire was a pair of very tight jockey shorts that showcased his package, knee length waterproof boots, and a white and yellow striped shirt he kept rolled at the elbows. He was classically handsome, brash, bisexual, and flirty by nature. 

Finally Michael Cogsworth, Adam’s butler, appeared, polishing a pocketwatch. “Ah, Monsieur Dumonde, I didn’t realize you’d returned.” 

“Apology accepted, _mon ami_ ,” Adam winked. “And no matter, you’re not truly a butler anyways.” 

“As you’ve always said, yes,” Cogsworth sighed. “Old habits die hard.” 

“ _Parce que vous etes un vieux fou_ ,” Lumiere muttered.

“What did he say!” Cogsworth demanded. 

Adam laughed. “Nothing of consequence. Why don’t you Google translate it?” he suggested.

“Ah!” Cogsworth exclaimed, exasperated. “That’s your answer to everything! That infernal device.”

“He’s just mad because last time he meant to call me a cad, and instead he called me his boyfriend,” Lumiere joked. “Technology can only go so far. I can always give you private lessons.”

Cogsworth blushed, and Adam winked knowingly at him. The stuffy Englishman was also in his forties, he’d never been married, and he’d always been the butler to his parents since they were married. He jumped at the chance to continue on in France because he was tired of urban British life. He had a hard time accepting his new life as Adam’s equal, and it had been five years. He had blonde hair worn in a traditional cut, a small gut, and always wore sweater with button up shirt combinations with dress slacks and loafers. He was obsessed with clocks and everything boring, except Lumiere. 

Mrs. Potts came bustling back into the room with a tea tray and ushered them all into the living room to relax. All except Cogsworth, that is. The man hardly ever was off his feet. 

He stood agains the doorjamb cluching his tea mug as usual, glowering at everyone else. 

“Doesn’t he ever sit?” Lumiere asked Adam once, in hushed tones. 

“I saw him sleep, once,” Adam confessed. 

Lumiere snorted. “That explains his grumpy behavior, he never gets any fucking sleep.” 

Adam curled up on the sofa with his book and started reading. Lumiere flicked on some preposterous French reality show he was always into. Mrs. Potts set into another knitting project. Cogsworth went back to polishing his pocketwatch. 

Adam smiled serenely while he read, each of them falling into their comfortable patterns. His _petite famile_ , and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon ami- my friend  
> mon ami disgracie- my disgraced friend  
> sacre bleu!- usually an exclamation of surprise like oh my god!  
> Demandez-vous le fou pour obtenir des conseils?- are you asking the fool for his advice?  
> je men fiche- I don't care  
> En ce qui me concerne vous pouvez pourrir- as far as I'm concerned, you can rot  
> degenere- degenerate  
> fils de pute- son of a bitch  
> mon chou- sweetie  
> parce que vous etes un vieux fou- because you are an old fool  
> petite famile- little family


	3. The Librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two protagonists meet for the first time. Gaston ruins it.

Adam stayed at home as often as possible. He preferred the company of himself and those who were closest to him than to that of the villagers. He didn’t like the way they stared at his tattoos and whispered _“Bete”._ He wasn’t that person anymore, he hadn’t been for years. However the villagers were of one mind, and their good opinion once lost was lost forever. In a way, he deserved it but that didn’t mean he had to subject himself to it if he could help it. 

Nowadays he only came into town once every two weeks to pick up his groceries and to go to the library. The library had the only thing the rest of this musty old town would never have: the internet. 

Not that Adam couldn’t afford a smartphone, he just wasn’t too impressed with fancy gadgets. He had an old flip phone that was found tucked away in a corner of the estate somewhere, and much to Lumiere’s chagrin, no amount of prodding or promising to spend his own paycheck on a smartphone for his friend would change his mind. 

Adam did, however, like to stay up-to-date on current events as much as possible, he needed reminders that life existed somewhere beyond his hometown, even if he wasn’t living it. He walked into the library doors and quickly made his way past the front desk, passing by the front parlor where the children’s room was located. Then he stopped.

At the center of the room surrounded by children was a woman in a blue dress. He had never seen her before, he would have defintely remebered meeting her. She looked... _beautiful._ Warm. Soft. The sunlight shined out from the window behind her and it looked like she herself was shining. The hair had escaped her long french braid and fell into her face. Adam felt a sudden urge to walk across the room and push it back into place. He stayed where he was. He doubted she would have appreciated the gesture, especially not from him. 

One of the children moved up from the little circle that surrounded her and went to sit in her lap. The woman smiled down at him and asked him to help her in finishing the story. It was a charming tale about a lion who befriends a sparrow and before he knew it, Adam found himself walking closer until he leaned up against the door of the parlor. 

“-but the Sparrow was wrong. The Lion wasn’t scary or angry. He was just hurt and alone. He had lost his pride a long time ago and never fully recovered. He said to the Sparrow, ‘Just because I have this thorn in my paw, don’t think you can harm me. I am the King of the Forest and I won’t fall. Not to a thorn and certainly not to you.’ And the Sparrow who by now could see the thorn hopped up onto the Lion’s shoulder. ‘Let me help you,’ said the Sparrow. The Lion scoffed. ‘What can a little bird like you do for me?’ The Sparrow told him, ‘Just because you’re little doesn’t mean you can’t help a lot. You mustn’t let a little thing like little stop you.’” 

As the woman finished up her story, several parents came to stand next to Adam in the doorway, clearly waiting to pick up their children. 

A young man in a yellow blazer grinned at Adam and asked, “So which one’s yours?” 

Adam fumbled. “Umm well I just...I liked the story. It was nice.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Adam turned around and the woman was smiling at him. 

“I liked it too, Miss Belle!” yelled the blonde haired girl Belle was leading back to her parents. 

“Thank you, sweetie. I hope you come back next week.” 

“Why wouldn’t she? You’re wonderful with them,” Adam couldn’t help blurting out. He turned a deep shade of crimson, but was pleased to see his words had the same effect on the beautiful woman, no, Belle. 

She said her goodbyes to the children and the parents, and he just stood there shuffling his feet awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here now that the story was over. Belle walked back up to him and Adam found himself mesmerized by her blue skirt. It was very swishy and also conveniently close to the floor where he kept his eyes, because it was either that or make conversation. Adam wasn’t exactly good at conversation with strangers, much less beautiful ones. 

“I don’t suppose I could ask you what your favorite part was?” 

Adam startled. “What?” 

Belle smiled patiently at him. “Of the story? It’s just that it’s one of my favorites, and you seemed engrossed.” 

“I liked the bit with the Sparrow. Also, the Lion bits.” 

Belle laughed. “So, the whole thing then.” 

“Yes, yes. Altogether it was quite nice. Very nice. Good,” he stuttered. 

“Good.” Belle smiled. “Will you be joining us next week? I’ll be reading some Rohld Dahl.”

“I really shouldn’t.” 

Belle’s nose wrinkled. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to intrude on children’s hour,” Adam said. “I would feel out of place.” He didn’t want to tell her the real reason was the villagers might make a scene. He was surprised he had escaped it today with the parents. 

“Well, you do have a poin there,” she mused, and he felt relief that she might drop the subject. “Still, it would be nice to see a friendly face in the crowd. It’s a tough audience.” 

Adam found himself laughing. “Oh yeah, six year olds are such tough critics.” 

“Absolutely ruthless,” Belle agreed dryly. 

“Well, ruthless or not, they clearly adore you. I don’t think I was ever that excited about reading when I was in school.” He didn’t need to tell her about his expensive education, and the awful tutors he used to have. 

“Oh, I was just the opposite,” she gushed. “Couldn’t keep my hands off of them. Still can’t.” 

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, eh? I like the sound of that.” 

Adam sighed. Of course. Of course this would happen. 

“Hello, Gaston,” Belle said, with a tinge of annoyance in her voice, much to his delight. 

“What are you doing here, _mon ami?_ I didn’t know you could read.” Gaston smirked at him. 

He gritted his teeth at the insult. “Gaston, you know perfectly well my education was better than yours.” 

He was scowling now, again much to Adam’s delight. “Ah, yes. _L’advantage du riche._ Am I still taking you out tonight, Belle?” 

His heart sank. Perhaps it wasn’t said with as much annoyance as he hoped. Of course Belle ( _Mon Dieu,_ what a beautiful name) would be going out with a classically handsome man. His mood soured once more. “I already told you, Monsieur de Longe, I’m helping my father in his shop.” 

“He can surely get by without you for one night, _non?_ ” 

“ _J’ai bien puer que non,_ ” Belle said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.” 

With a small, apologetic smile for Adam, Belle left the library. Gaston rounded on him and sneered. 

“This is all your fault, _connard._ You scared her away!” 

Adam ignored him, thinking he was doing a fine job of mucking his chances up without his help. 

It was then he noticed her book. 

He picked it up with a flourish and rushed out, hoping to still catch the beauty and formally introduce himself, ignoring Gaston’s protests behind him. 

“ _Au revoir_ to you too, _branleur!_ ” 

Adam pushed through the stalls littering the streets, looking for the blue swishy skirt of the woman from the library. And then...he saw her! Her auburn hair shining through the crowd like a beacon. 

“Wait! Mademoiselle!” he called, hoping she would know he meant this cry for her. As luck would have it, she turned around once more. 

“Yes, Monsieur?” she asked, her brow furrowing quite adorably, if he was being honest with himself. 

“You left your book!” he proclaimed stupidly after gaping at her for longer than was necessary.

“Ah, _merci beaucoup._ ”

“ _Je m’appelle Adam Dumonde, et vous?_ ” 

“My name is Belle Deloncroix,” she introduced with a smile, sticking out a hand for him to shake. 

“It’s a...aaaa-h nice name,” he stuttered. _Pull yourself together, Dumonde_ he chastised himself. 

“Thanks, I like yours too,” she told him. 

“I should, uhm, let you get going. It’s almost dark and my friends are probably wondering where I am.”

She nodded. “Right, well. I’ll see you next week, though?” she asked hesitantly, biting her lip.

“Of course!” he exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than he had meant. He cleared his throat. “I mean, _oui. Absolutement._ ” 

She giggled. “Next week it is then, I’ll look forward to it.” 

His heart soared. Did she really mean that??

“Oh, me too,” Adam assured. “Uhm, okay. I’ll just be-” He waved his hands frantically to a point behind his head. 

Belle smiled and started towards her house with a, “ _Bonne nuit_ ”, leaving Adam with the biggest grin he’d had for months. He didn’t realize until he was halfway home he had no new book and nothing new to talk about which would only raise questions, and he groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you enjoyed this! 
> 
> bete- beast  
> mon ami- my friend   
> l'advantage du riche- the advantage of the rich  
> mon dieu- my god  
> non- no  
> j'ai bien peur que non- I'm afraid not  
> connard- bastard   
> au revoir- see you soon  
> branleur- wanker  
> merci beaucoup- thank you very much  
> Je m'appelle...et vous?- My name is...and yours?  
> oui, absolutement- yes, absolutely  
> bonne nuit- goodnight


	4. The Other Players

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tells her father about the mysterious villager. Adam and his friends play Clue while they divulge more information about his village trip.

“Where is your head tonight, _ma belle fleur?_ ” her papa asked later that night as she once again dropped her paintbrush. 

Not that Belle wasn’t usually clumsy, but tonight she had stars in her eyes. There was something fascinating about the man she had met in the library. He wasn’t like the other villagers in this town, and he was shy and likeable, unlike Monsieur de Longe. She couldn’t shake the sparks she felt when he looked at her with his deep blue eyes or how she felt when he complimented her, but her mind was stuck as usual on the illustrious Bete of Saint Veran. 

She had never seen him before, always seemed to just miss him, but he had an impeccable taste in literature. She had tried asking around town, but was only met with scoffs and replies of, “ _Il ne derange jamais de montrer son visage ici apres ce qu’il a fait._ ” But they would never tell her what he had done to deserve such scorn. Or it could be she wasn’t deemed worthy enough of an answer, as she was still seen as a peculiar outsider. 

“Sorry, papa,” she apologized. Belle sighed and wiped the paint mark that now decorated the work bench with a cloth she had tucked into her overalls. “My mind is a million miles away.”

“It’s not that Gaston fellow again, is it?” her father asked, stopping and turning to frown at her.

“He’s just as annoying as ever,” she confirmed, “but that is not the object of my thoughts.” 

“Then tell me, Belle.” 

“Papa, do you know anything of the Bete of Saint Veran? Do the villagers talk?” 

“ _Cherie,_ you know the villagers like me even less than you.” Maurice sighed. 

“I was just wondering if you’d overheard anything.”

“No, but I could keep an ear out for you,” he smiled.

Belle smiled back warmly. “Thanks, Papan. He comes into my library once a week, but he always manages to slip past me. He’s got the most wonderful taste in books-”

“Jane Austen,” her father said knowingly, with a wink.

She turned beet red. “Maybe. But, I’ve met a shy and likeable villager tonight at Children’s Hour.” 

“A child?” he teased. 

“No,” Belle grumbled. “Someone my age, he was sweet. Complimented my reading, but then Gaston came along and ruined it.”

Maurice harrumphed. “He’s the crazy old bat if he thinks you’ll ever give him the time of day.” He paused. “Wait a minute, he?!”

“ _Ne tenez pas vos espoirs,_ ” she admonished. “Who knows if he even wants to be friends.”

“Belle,” he said sternly, “ber serious. You’re beautiful. I just want you to find someone your own age to get out of the house and do things with, instead of spending all your time with this old loon.” 

“Papa, I love spending time with you,” she assured. “And I love the workshop. I’m not missing out on anything.”

“Ah! Whatever you say.”  
…..  
Adam was so distracted by the beautiful woman he’d met at the library today that he didn’t notice Mrs. Potts place a tray full of fresh biscuits and French pastries on the table. 

“Are we all ready?” 

“Some of us have our heads in the clouds,” Lumiere joked. 

“Adam?” Mrs. Potts asked with concern, waving her hand in front of his face. It was this action that snapped him out of his reverie. 

“Sorry, _mon amis._ Let’s play our game.” 

“What’s got you lost in thought?” the warm woman asked. 

“I met a girl,” he said shyly. “Her name is Belle.”

“ _Sacre bleu! Qui est-elle? C’est merveilleaux!_ ” Lumiere fired rapidly. 

“English, please,” Cogsworth said sharply. 

“He’s just worried you’re talking about him,” Adam teased. “He said nothing about you,” he said to the stuffy Englishman. 

Cogsworth grumbled to himself and slammed the board game onto the dining room table with a huff. 

Lumiere smiled charmingly at him before turning his attention back to Adam. “That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“She lives in the village, _mon compagnon,_ but I’m assuming she is new and not acquainted with my reputation.” 

Mrs. Potts scoffed. “It’s hardly your fault.” 

Adam swallowed thickly. “I’m still responsible.” 

“Speaking of guilt,” Cogsworth interrupted, “are we going to play Clue or not?” 

“ _Cul,_ ” Lumiere whispered, making Adam spit out his tea. “ _Nous vous ferons bientot attention, mon amour._ ” 

“English!” Cogsworth growled, unfolding the playing board sharply and passing out golf pencils. 

“He was just saying it’s not all about you, Cogsworth,” Adam translated. 

Lumiere winked at him conspiratorally. “I, for one, will not play a single game until Adam tells us more about this enchanting woman.” 

Cogsworth sighed., shuffling the cards. “Master. Please. I can’t stand it. I just want to get on with the game.” 

“Only because you know you’ll win every time,” Adam joked. “And you don’t have to call me master.” 

Cogsworth rewarded him with an ugly glare so he held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Her name is Belle Deloncroix, and she has the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. She reads to the cihildren in the library every week and she could talk to me for longer than a minute without giving me a dirty look.” 

Mrs. Potts smiled at him. “She sounds lovely, dear. You should bring her around for tea.”

“Oh n-no! I couldn’t,” Adam stuttered. “I can barely talk to her! I am going to her next reading, though.” 

“Let me go!” Lumiere cried eagerly. “I will ask for you! With a name like that, she’s bound to be a beauty.” 

Images of a flirty Lumiere scaring the wonderful woman off filled Adam’s mind and he shuddered. He loved his friend, but sometimes he could come on too strong. “No!” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I can talk to her myself.” 

Lumiere shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

Mrs. Potts patted his hand reassuringly and Cogsworth sighed. “Finally. We can concentrate on the important thing here which is, how the kids say, whodunnit?” 

The three of them groaned in succession. 

“I’ll play whatever you like, as long as you never say that word again,” Lumiere promised darkly. 

Cogsworth harrumphed and passed out the notecards. “You’re just sore because you don’t like losing.” He set the game pieces in random places with a weapon. 

Adam yawned and grabbed a _mille fielle._ He loved the pastry, and Mrs. Potts was as good a baker as the small French bakery down in the village. It was lovely and crispy, and he was enjoying himself until-

“That’s what you sound like, hmm?” Lumiere’s voice dripped with innuendo.

Adam flushed, not realizing he was enjoying himself that much. “No!” he hissed. He hid his face in the notecard, pretending to be going over his strategy. 

Cogsworth sealed the confidential envelope and passed out the rest of the cards to their group. Adam looked down at his stack. He decided to play as Colonel Mustard and waited for the rest of them to look up and begin the game. 

Cogsworth took the dice gleefully and rolled them around in his hands. He blew into his cupped palm and threw them down onto the table. “Ha!” he proclaimed. “That’s a twelve! I go first!” 

Lumiere rolled his eyes at Adam across the table and he had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. “ _Et encore, il est malade perdant._ ” 

Cogsworth, thankfully, hadn’t heard the Frenchman’s remarks as he was too busy muttering to himself about how many spaces it would take to reach the first room. 

“Time moves forward, and I grow ever weary, old friend,” Adam remarked gently. 

“What would you know about time?” he guffawfed. Yet, he still quickly moved his pawn further into the corridor and into the library. 

“Is it Miss Scarlet, in the library, with the candlestick?” he asked curiously. 

Adam looked down at his cards. “I cannot answer. Lums?” 

“ _Je ne peux pas non plus repondre._ ” 

“Yes or no, will suffice,” huffed Cogsworth. 

“ _Non_ ,” Lumiere replied, sticking his tongue out. 

“Mrs. Potts?” 

“Nothing from me either, dearie.” 

Lumiere and Adam moaned in succession. 

“That means YES, IT IS I, PROFESSOR PLUM, IN THE BALLROOM WITH THE CANDLESTICK AND I’D DO IT AGAIN!” Cogsworth said triumphantly. 

“What are you doing with my candlestick, _mon amour_?” Lumiere purred suggestively, making the Englishman turn bright red and sputter. 

“That might be a new record,” Adam sighed. “But you still have to make it to the center of the board before you can make accusations, Cogsworth.” 

“I can accuse, as many people as I wish as often as I wish. In fact I accuse you right now, of being no fun.” 

Lumiere smirked. “I quite like that temper of yours, when it’s not directed at me.” 

Mrs. Potts giggled. “Oh hush, all of you back to the board.” 

“Ah yes where were we. Well Cogs was putting candles in interesting places-” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Oh no, I assure you it is entirely possible, in fact I’d be willing to demonstrate right no-” 

“Shouldn’t we get back to the game?” Adam said, trying to ignore the vivid, disturbing imagery.

Mrs. Potts shook her head and picked up her knitting needles. “There’s no use when they get like this, best just to wait it out.” 

Cogs and Lumiere continued to bicker although now they seemed to have switched to literature and were arguing over an Agatha Christie novel. 

Adam sighed. “They’re worse than usual.” 

“Yes, I daresay we better to do something before there’s an actual murder in this house. “ 

Adam and Mrs. Potts continued to watch their argument with glee. 

“We’re terrible people.” 

“Oh absolutely, shall I put the kettle on?” 

“That would be grand.” 

By the time, Mrs. Potts got back the game had resumed. 

Lumiere was lounging elegantly against the chaise, sipping his red wine. 

“Ah but the scarlet woman could not have possibly committed the crime she was too busy having a rendezvous with her lover, Mrs. Peacock, in the conservatory. “ 

Cogs sputtered. “What sort of evidence do you have to support this preposterous claim?” 

“The heart is no mystery to me, my friend.” 

“You are no friend of mine, sir. You are a scoundrel.” 

Lumiere clutched his heart mockingly. 

“Take that back this instant!” 

Cogs moved his character across the board smugly. “I refuse.” 

Lumiere glared. 

“All these years of friendship ze mean nothing to you, Professor Plum. I see you now for what you truly are you villain. You may be plum but your hands run red with blood tonight!” 

“Strong words, Miss Scarlet. Not that anyone is going to believe you.” 

“So you admit it!” 

Cogs folded his hands together primly. 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“You are a monster, monsieur.” 

“Yes and a hungry one at that, Mrs. Potts do you have any more ginger snaps?” 

Mrs. Potts passed over the tea tray. 

“You are an accomplice to his crimes now. “ 

“I’m not too fussed, it’s not like he actually killed anyone.” 

Mrs. Potts laid down her cards and grinned. “Because I killed them.” 

Lumiere gasped and Cogs choked on his ginger snap. 

Adam grinned at her and poured her more tea. 

“So it was you all along, eh Mrs. White?” 

“Indeed it was and I’ll thank you to remember that the next time you ask me to do your laundry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I love writing banter between Cogsworth and Lumiere. Thanks for the kudos!
> 
> ma belle fleur- my beautiful flower  
> Il ne derange jamais de montrer son visage ici apres ce qu'il a fait- He never bothers to show his face here after what he did  
> cherie- dear  
> Ne tenez pas vos espoirs- don't get your hopes up  
> Sacre bleu! Qui est-elle? C'est merveilleaux!- Damn it! Who is she? This is marvelous!  
> mon compagnon- my companion  
> cul- ass  
> Nous vous ferons bientot attention, mon amour- we will give you all the attention, my love  
> mille fielle- thousand layers  
> Et encore, il est malade perdant- And again, he's a sore loser  
> Je ne peux pas non plus repondre- I cannot answer either


	5. The Town Librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Gaston's point of view. Belle and Adam bond over Jane Austen.

Gaston de Longe had no idea how anyone could spend time in that dusty, book ridden place that Belle loved to call a “library” when there was his gym. No brains involved, this was the place he was allowed to truly lose himself to the carnal power of working his muscles to perfection. Sweat, adrenaline, and metal ruled here; Gaston excelled at all those things without a doubt. Ask anyone in Saint Veran and he was the clear chosen leader for his finesse. 

Girls fawned over him, and guys wanted to be him: all except the pesky Adam Dumonde of course. Gaston scowled. They had once been quite close when they were younger because he enjoyed the wealth of his parents and the many other trips and treats it brought into his life, but then he had killed that girl...whatever her face was and even their friendship hadn’t endured that strain. Sure, the girl wasn’t exactly Gaston’s type, but it had burned that she wasn’t enamored with him at first sight. Adam received everything, even things he didn’t want. He just strung that poor farmer’s daughter along only to break her heart so cruelly. What had he been doing trying to scheme on his prize, Belle Deloncroix? 

He had no idea how he had got to talking with the most beautiful girl in the village, but Gaston was going to make it his mission to lock down Belle before Adam had another chance to talk to her again. Sure, Belle’s interests didn’t align with his _exactly_ , but she was the only one here that matched him aesthetically. Maybe he could talk her into giving up these foolish dreams of being a librarian and seeing the world to become a personal trainer alongside him. 

“Hi, Gaston,” Claudette (Cosette? Claire? He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to distinguish between the bimbette triplets) cooed. 

He waved half-heartedly as he reached for the barbell for another rep. Speaking of another rep, he could really use a towel, or some water. Where was- “Monsieur Lefou!” he called impatiently. “What do I pay you for?” 

“Sorry, Gaston,” the short, plump man apologized, quickly tending to his face with a cold towel and handing him a cold bottle of water. “I was helping Cosette finish the-” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Gaston brushed him off, snatching the bottle from his lackey’s hand and taking a long gulp. “ _J’ai des choses plus importantes a craindre._ ” 

“Ah, yes, the big proposal. Don’t you think-”

“I didn’t ask what you think!” Gaston snapped, turning his back on Lefou and going to grab the bar once more. 

“Yes, of course, monsieur, _mes excuses_.” Lefou bowed his head and turned his attention to the open gym door. 

He had only done three reps when his focus was disturbed once more. 

“Monsieur de Longe!” Lefou exclaimed. 

“What is it?” Gaston growled. 

“It’s mademoiselle Belle! She’s headed to the library.” 

Gaston’s heart lept and he almost dropped the barbell. He placed it back on the bench before he barked, “Quick, Lefou, moisturize me!” 

Lefou doused him with his misting bottle and handed him a towel. Gaston quickly dabbed his face before rushing out the door, leaving his subordinate to struggle behind him. 

He had hoped to reach her before she set foot into that pesky place, the less time he spent around those old books the better, but alas she had ducked in. 

Lefou panted behind him, reaching the doors a few seconds after him. 

“Ah, Louis, Monsieur de Longe, what can I do for you?” 

Gaston was slightly annoyed she had called his assistant by his first name and not him. “I told you, Belle, you can call me Gaston. We were just passing through the neighborhood-”

“You were?” she asked skeptically, arranging some baked goods on a plate. “I never see you in this library, Gaston, it’s almost as if you don’t know how to read.” 

He hit Lefou in the back for him to chime in and help him out.

“O-oh yes, Miss Belle, we smelled those delicious cookies and may I just say-” 

Gaston cut him off with a steely glare. “Yes, they smell wonderful, but we really can’t eat any, you see, as we’re on a strict high protein diet and that would only make us more fat and miserable.” 

Belle gave him a scathing glare. “Well, good thing they’re meant for the children, Gaston. Tonight is the weekly reading and I always like to have a snack for them.” 

“That is so nice!” Lefou complimented and Belle smiled warmly at him. “I bet they just love you.” 

“It’s kind of you to say so, Louis. _Etes-vous sur un regime a haute teneur en proteines aussi? Avoir a cookie._ ” She placed a warm, gooey cookie into his sidekick’s hand. 

Gaston smacked the cookie out of Lefou’s hand, making it fly into the circulation desk and crumble into pieces. “He is especially on a diet, mademoiselle. He started my new training program and can’t have any sugar.”

Lefou’s face looked downtrodden. 

“Right, well. If you’re not staying for story hour, I’d like to set up, please,” Belle said sharply. 

Gaston raked a hand through his hair. “Suit yourself, doll, but you can’t avoid me all of these days. I’m taking you out for a salad.” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “As amazing as that sounds, not tonight.” 

Gaston gestured at Lefou to follow him. “And make sure to read my dm’s!” he called out over his shoulder as he left. “She can’t avoid me forever, Lefou. What kind of sneakers should I wear for the big question?”   
…  
Belle sighed as she watched the two men leave. She wished she could have one conversation with Louis without Gaston. She could see the wistful look in his eye every time he walked into the library, and God knows she needed as many patrons as she could get. It seemed the children and the Bete of Saint Veran were her only customers these days...and Adam Dumonde.

Her mind drifted to the burly, dirty blonde haired man she had met last week. Belle sincerely hoped he would be making good on the invitation to come again tonight. He was alluring, and she wanted another chance to speak to him. If anyone could be her friend in this village, it was definitely him. 

Belle nervously smoothed down her dress and went to clean up the mess Monsieur de Longe had made when he threw that cookie. What was the point of that? To show he was a brutish man? If so, point well received. It made her nose wrinkle in disgust thinking about the self absorption and downright bullying he could muster. 

She reached for a small broom and dustpan behind the circulation desk, carefully making sure she had collected all the crumbs. If there was one thing Belle was adamant about not attracting to her library, it was ants. 

Satisfied, she stood up and emptied the dustpan before finally settling into her desk chair at the computer behind the desk.

While she didn’t use her phone for much, the computer was still a necessary evil because of the internet and her job. Belle navigated to her email and groaned at the sight awaiting her eyes. 

Dozens of messages from Instagram saying Monsieur de Longe had tagged her in a photo or private messaged her littered her inbox. She rubbed her temples in frustration, and blew out a puff of air through her lips. 

It was then she heard the jingle of the library doors, alerting her to the presence of a patron. Her head snapped to attention, but the person had already ducked into the rows of books. 

Belle’s lips pursed and she wondered who it could be. Maybe it was the Bete of Saint Veran? Her heart leapt at the prospect of finally discovering his identity and she quietly left her desk to investigate.  
…  
Adam Dumonde had come into the village library to perhaps grab a new book for himself for the week and stake out a good spot for Children’s Hour. Somewhere not too close to attract attention to himslef but close enough to be there to support his new acquaintance that had extended the invitation. What if she wasn’t serious? Oh God, that thought hadn’t occured to Adam until this exact moment as he was about to open the library doors. What if Belle was just being polite?

He steeled his nerves, plucking at a stray piece of yarn unraveling from his favorite emerald green sweater. He told himself that he could just peruse the books and maybe leave before Belle even arrived. He had plenty of time before she was there, he... _merde_. 

She was there, behind the circulation desk, which could only mean she was the mysterious beautiful librarian he’d been trying to meet all these years. His face turned magenta and he quickly ducked into the British Literature section in the hopes she hasn’t noticed his arrival. She seemed to be engrossed in her computer, thankfully. 

Adam took a shaky breath and tried to review his options. He could continue on as if nothing was amiss, watch Children’s Hour, and duck out before Belle even knew he was there, never coming back while she was there again. He could greet her, watch Children’s Hour, and make awkward conversation afterwards to see if she’d meant the sitatuation. 

The villagers certainly hadn’t done their town librarian justice. He had been imagining a pretty girl, but Belle? She was _gorgeous_ , luminous, warm. How could he ever talk to her again now that he had found out the woman he’d been so nervous to meet was actually talking to him?

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. Panicking, Adam grabbed the first book in front of him and opened it to a random page to pretend to be reading. 

“Adam?” came a confused and slightly startled voice from behind him.

His shoulders tensed as the familiar lilt of Belle’s voice assaulted his senses. “Er, _bonjour_ mademoiselle Deloncroix.”

“It’s Belle, please,” she said warmly. 

“I, uh, didn’t expect you here so early,” he said.

“ _Ne saviez-vous pas que j’etais le bibliothecaire?_ ” Belle questioned sweetly.

Adam took a deep breath and spun around, book still open in his hands. “N-no. I wasn’t aware.” 

“What are you reading?” she asked.

Adam cleared his throat before reading aloud, “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear; Beauty too rich for use for Earth too dear!” He grimaced to himself as he realized what he’d picked up in his haste. “So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.” With a hard swallow, Adam closed the book and forced himself to look up at Belle.

Her nose was wrinkled. “Romeo and Juliet? You really want to read that?” 

“ _Non_ ,” Adam said vehemently. “ _Shakespeare est la banniere de mon existence._ ” 

Belle chuckled whole-heartedly at that, making him brighten. “I wasn’t going to call out the bard himself, monsieur. I was just saying that is one of the worst plays to like. I mean, romance? Come on.” 

“I agree completely,” he assured her. He reshelved the accursed book and continued, “But, I’m not a Shakespeare fan.” 

She gasped at that. “Macbeth? Othello? Hamet?” 

“Followed his psychopath wife to obtain a crown; believed some jealous dude that his wife was cheating and murdered her; talked to ghosts.” Adam ticked off on his fingers. “Shall we continue?” 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t insult one of my favorite playwrights-”

Adam scoffed and she ignored him. 

“-and ask who you prefer then?” 

“Uh, Jane Austen, for one,” he fired back. “She’s a brilliant writer and actually has a good prose. Dickens? Classic books, honestly-”

“Wait,” Belle interrupted him breathlessly. “Did you say Jane Austen?” 

“Yes,” he challenged. “She’s my favorite author since ever.”

“Mine too!” Belle enthused. 

His heart soared with pleasure. “Your favorite?” 

Whatever Belle had been about to say was cut short by the arrival of the village children that had come from Children’s Hour. 

“Duty calls,” she sighed. “But we will continue this conversation later,” she promised darkly, with a wag of her slender fingers. 

He could only nod quickly as she darted off to greet the children and serve their snack. Adam smiled as he watched her calm and gentle way with them, smiling warmly at all of them and gesturing to the rug so they could all sit and begin. 

“Hello, everyone,” Belle began. “I’m glad to see some new faces and some old ones,” she paused to smile at Adam. “Tonight we’re reading The Twits by Rohld Dahl, and remember if you like the book, you can check it out from the library afterwards.” 

She licked the pads of her fingers and Adam couldn’t help but follow her tongue darting out, and then turned the page. “If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.

“A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to review!
> 
> J'ai des choses plus importantes a craindre- I have more important things to think of  
> mes excuses- my apologies  
> Etes-vous sur un regime a haute teneur en proteines aussi?- Are you on a high protein diet also?  
> Avoir a cookie- have a cookie  
> merde- shit  
> Ne saviez-vous pas que j'etais le bibliothecaire?- Did you not know that I was the librarian?  
> est la banniere de mon existence- is the bane of my existence


	6. Reflections and The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see a glimpse of what made Adam the bete of Saint Veran. Belle and Adam reflect on their parents. The big proposal is here.

The air of this place made the hairs on the back of Adam’s neck stick up. It was dark and damp, the trees were thick and coarse, and Circe’s hand felt lifeless and ice cold in his own calloused and warm one. 

“Wait!” he panted to her as they crashed through the brambles. “ _Ralentissez, s’il vous plait. Je ne vois rien dans cette obscurite humide._ ”

“You’re the one who told me to meet you out here. You left me. _Tout ca c’est de ta faute!_ ” she cursed at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he pleaded with Circe. “You know, my parents-”

“Ah! Little boy!” she hissed. “Why care what your parents think! Don’t you love me?”   
…  
Adam woke drenched in a cold sweat even though he’d fallen asleep in front of the blazing fire Cogsworth had lit. _Don’t you love me?_ was echoing around his head and he rubbed his temples. 

“Do you need some tea, dearie?” Mrs. Potts asked with concern from her place on the other large and comfortable couch where she was knitting some other soft sweater, no doubt for him. 

He sighed. He needed something stronger than tea alright, but he had been sober for years. “Maybe some paracetamol,” Adam said finally, rubbing up and down the bridge of his nose, and gathering the afghan closer to his chest. “And some tea.” 

Mrs. Potts abandoned her knitting immediately. “Cup of tea will chase that nightmare away, my dear. Just you wait,” she promised. 

Lumiere scoffed from his armchair by the fire where he was flicking through some vulgar French tabloid magazine with disinterest. “ _C’est votre solution a tout._ ”

Cogsworth grumbled something from his usual perch by the fire. He was polishing his trusty old pocketwatch as usual and occasionally poking the embers. “Shall I make an appointment with that therapist again, master Adam?” 

Adam sighed. “No need, Cogs. His solution was to keep me as drugged as possible during the night, and I don’t like how it makes me feel the next morning. Even worse than a hangover. 

“And you’d know all about how that feels _mon ami, non_?” Lumiere smirked at him. “Although, I am glad you are off the stuff.” 

Cogsworth huffed. “There’s nothing wrong with it so long as you aren’t abusing it.”

“Aha!” Lumiere said triumphantly, pointing at Cogsworth with a mischevious twinkle in his eye. “ _Vous reconnaissez que vous n’etes pas aussi serre que vous le reclamez! Mieux cacher mon vin dans les cuisines._ ” 

Adam snickered, making Cogsworth look up at them sharply. He glared between the two of them. 

“Would it kill the two of you to speak goddamn English for once?” he said vehemently. 

“Swear jar,” Adam said firmly, pointing to the glass jar on the table behind him. 

Lumiere chuckled. “It just might,” he said solemnly. 

“Drama queen,” Cogsworth said in a huff. He crossed the room to deposit a Franc into the jar. 

While the other two squabbled amongst themselves, Adam tried to focus his attentions on Belle. 

He couldn’t believe she actually thought he would read Romeo and Juliet. Granted, he had had it in his hands but he grabbed it in a sheer panic.

His father had been a British Literature professor back in London, and was the reason Adam developed his love of books. However, hearing enough soliloquy and sonnets to last anyone’s lifetime being recited out loud in an extravagant flourish was enough to turn him off the bard. Maybe he’d been a tad rash to write him off altogether if Belle liked him so much...then again he had a feeling the attractive mademoiselle could get him to be agreeable to anything. 

“Here we are!” Mrs. Potts announced pattering back into the room with his tea and tablets. “This should take the edge off things.” 

Adam accepted them gratefully and smiled warmly at the maternal figure. “Thanks.”

She patted his arm affectionately and returned to her knitting. 

Adam quickly swallowed the tablets and drank deeply. The warm, slightly sweet liquid soothed his nerves and he tried to forget the throes of his nightmare. He stared deep into the flames of the roaring fire in front of him and concentrated on what book he would ask Belle to read next time he saw her.  
…  
There was no doubt Belle’s mother had been a beautiful woman. She clutched the golden frame that housed her favorite picture of her mother tightly as she gazed upon the features longingly. 

Her father wasn’t much of a technology buff like herself, but he had managed to capture the radiance of her mother as she read a book in their previous family home. Her mother had rich mocha colored skin; round, caramel colored lips; and warm honey colored eyes framed by thick lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her hands clutching the book had long, slender fingers, that she used to paint, to cook, to play piano. Her chestnut colored hair was pulled back into two neat braids and in her ears were the very topaz knots Belle wore herself. 

Her father always claimed she had gotten her mother’s looks, and she surmised that was half true, but her nose and broad shoulders she’d inherited from her father. She could never be as graceful as Maman had been if she tried. 

Belle missed her mother more fiercely than anything she had ever felt in her heart before, and if there was anything she wished from her old life back it was her mother’s warm embrace. 

Maurice Deloncroix had met her mother shortly after completing his tour in the navy at 25. According to him, it was love at first sight, and he proposed after only knowing her for three months. Her mother, the more rational one, insisted he wait until she finished her higher education and he was so in love, he agreed. While he waited for her to finish, he built his own business to have a good investment to fall back upon after they were married and wanted to start a family.

He had done well, his business was massively successful, and he proudly proclaimed to his future wife that they would never want for anything. Her mother finished school, her parents married and settled down, and soon Belle had been born.

However, when she was ten, a fire ravaged through their house when she was at school and her father was at work. Her mother had been trapped when the fire swept too quickly through the estate, and with it, most of their wealth had gone also.

No longer wanting to be reminded of his beloved at every turn, and because it was cheaper by half, Maurice had moved Belle and their few belongings from Paris to Saint Veran and they had built a new, comfortable life. 

“ _Regardez-vous a nouveaux cette image?_ ” her father’s voice asked affectionately behind her.

Belle turned and smiled at him. “I thought you’d gone to bed already.” 

Maurice waved her off. “I was doing some last minute repairs to my new machine.”

Belle shook her head. “Don’t frazzle that head of yours. It is precious to me.”

He chuckled. “You sound just like your maman. She’d always tell me off for working too late.”

“Maybe she was onto something,” she scolded. “You’re not getting any younger, papa. You need your rest.” 

“Ouch,” he joked. “ _Tu me blesses._ ” 

Belle swatted him playfully. “Come on. Let’s get you up to bed.”  
…  
Belle was awoken suddenly the next morning by a loud, firm rap upon the front door. She was disoriented and bleary eyed, and wondering why her father didn’t wake her up before he had left into the village for her to make breakfast. 

She hurriedly dressed in her jeans she had left on the floor the night before and her usual gray pullover, and combed through her strands to make sure she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. She hoped it was her papa back from market, and he’d just forgotten his house key as usual. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. 

She opened the door on Monsieur de Longe. He was wearing a ridiculous tuxedo with a red velvet bowtie and gold cumberbund. “ _Puis-je vous aider?_ ” she asked amusedly. 

Gaston cleared his throat. “Yes, mademoiselle Belle, I was wondering if I could ask you something.” 

“Well, I-” she started to protest.

“Great,” he interrupted, making her roll her eyes. “Belle, as you know I’m the most handsomest man in the village. Any girl would be drooling and tripping over themselves to get a date with this gent, but not you, and I think that makes me want you more. A true hunter always wants the most difficult prize.” 

Did he really just call her a prize to be won? Did he really say handsomest? Belle pinched her arm to see if this was really happening and winced when the sharp twinge came a few seconds later. He was still talking.

“What I really wanted to know, I know we haven’t known each other long, and we haven’t been on too many dates-” It was here he pushed through her into the house, “-but imagine this: I come home after a long day at the gym, you’re roasting a high protein, low fat meal over the fire. Our _enfants_ are running around the rug, a few dogs at the ground-”

“Children?” she asked bemusedly. How did they suddenly go from dates to children? 

“Of course, you’ll work part time as a personal trainer, no need to waste yourself at that library anymore, filling your head with nonsense.” 

Belle had heard enough, she started edging Gaston towards the door. “Gaston, I don’t really think-”

“Perfect!” he cried. “No need! Belle, what I wanted to ask is, _voudrais-tu etre ma femme?_ ” (fr)

She saw her opportunity. Pulling the rug beneath his feet as she said, “I’m sorry, Gaston, I just don’t think I’m what you’re looking for!” 

Monsieur de Longe tripped over the rug as she intended, falling backwards down the small hill to her front door and landing in a pile of mud. 

With a satisfied nod, Belle called out, “And you should the learn better grammar!”   
…  
With a grumble, Gaston pulled himself out of the muck, mud dripping from his body like some sort of slime monster in those dumb movies Lefou used to make him watch. Belle had turned him down? What had she been thinking? That girl definitely had a screw loose. 

“Gaston!” Lefou cried from somewhere behind him. Suddenly a white towel flew into his face, sopping wet, like a missile. 

“You idiot!” he growled, dragging the towel down his face to get some of the grime. “ _Nous n’utilisons pas de serviettes blanches sur la salete!_ We only use them for clear secretions only, sweat and spit!” 

Lefou bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry, Gaston, I wasn’t thinking. I just saw you were in distress.”

“You think?” he asked sarcastically. “ _Non, je passe une excellente journee._ ”

“What happened with the young mademoiselle?” Lefou asked cautiously. 

Gaston grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Obviously not well if I’m sat here, right?” he said through gritted teeth. 

“S-she doesn’t know what she’s missing!” he squeaked, and Gaston could feel the shorter man quaking in fear. 

With a sigh, he dropped him to the ground. “What more could she want, Lefou? There’s no sweeter of a bachelor than me.”

Lefou cleared his throat. “If I could suggest, uh, perhaps something to help.” 

Gaston glared at him. “I’ll think of the plan myself.” 

With that, he stomped away from Belle’s _maison_ , already plotting how he would win her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The name of the woman in his nightmare actually came from the sort of cannon book about Adam's life before the curse in the 1991 Beauty and the Beast movie. Of course Gaston is the absolute worst, that's the point. Remember to review!
> 
> Ralentissez, s'il vous plait- Slow down, please   
> Je ne vois rien dans cette ocscurite humide- I don't see anything in this damp darkness  
> Tout ca c'est de ta faute!- This is all your fault!  
> C'est votre solution a tout- That's your solution to everything  
> Vous reconnaissez que vous n'etes pas aussi serre que vous le reclamez!- You recognize that you are not as tight as you claim!  
> Mieux cacher mon vin dans les cuisines- Better hide my wine in the kitchens  
> Regardez-vous a nouveaux cette image?- Are you looking at this picture again?  
> Tu mes blesses-you wound me  
> Puis-je vous aider?- Can I help you?  
> enfants- children  
> voudrais-tu etre ma femme?- would you like to be my wife?  
> Nous n'utilisons pas de serviettes blanches sur la salete!- We don't use the white towels on the dirt!  
> je passe une excellente journee- I am having an excellent day


End file.
